Sermon on the Mount

Beyond the Letter of the Law

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Beyond the Letter of the Law” Matt. 5:21-26

It can prompt the silent treatment or explode into domestic violence. It can extinguish passion, put an end to love, stifle dreams, break our hearts, and end a marriage.

It can divide our families, pit brother against brother, disconnect parent from child, unfold into long years of puzzling, hurtful, and bleak estrangement.

It can turn us against our neighbor, inspire us to trade insults and trash talk, ignite a feud, make us feel unsafe in our homes, and create animosity on the block.

It can make us hate our jobs, kindle disrespect for the boss or colleague, cause us to procrastinate or miss deadlines, lash out in water cooler gossip, and even get us fired.

It can divide our churches into factions, convince us that we are holier or more righteous than others. It can splinter us into schisms that vote with their feet and head for the door.

It can ruin your health, pump cortisol and adrenaline into your system, spike your blood pressure, flood your stomach with acid, attack your heart, consume your mind with obsessive thoughts, or turn inward to self-harm and abuse—cutting, disordered eating, even suicide.

I’m talking about anger.

In our reading from Matthew’s gospel, Jesus continues his Sermon on the Mount with a series of antitheses, teachings which radicalize the commandments of the Torah and reveal God’s intent for our lives in community.  Jesus begins with anger.  He takes the commandment, “You shall not kill,” which prohibits the taking of human life (Exodus 20:13; Deut. 5:17), and he goes deeper, exploring the power of our anger, not only to take life but to divide families, undermine relationships, and mar our communities. From everyday insults to slander to frivolous lawsuits that pursue a selfish agenda, Jesus saw anger at work in destructive ways that wounded spirits and brought death to relationships.

Jesus used the exaggerated rhetoric of hyperbole to impress upon his friends that they could not be in right relationship with God if they were not in right relationship with one another. Jesus described a worshiper bringing an offering to God.  In the first century, offerings were presented in the Temple.  The offering was the culmination of a multi-day pilgrimage from Galilee to Jerusalem.  Then, a ritual of purification was undertaken, the Temple was entered, and a sacrifice was purchased from the vendors. But just as the priest prepared to kill the animal or burn the grain, Jesus’s worshipper remembered his angry estrangement from a brother or sister, jumped up, rushed out of the Temple, and made the three-day return trip to Galilee to make things right.  Then, the worshiper returned to Jerusalem and dedicated his offering to God.  It’s a powerful statement of the fact that we cannot love God without loving our neighbor.

To further emphasize his point, Jesus next described neighbors embroiled in a lawsuit. Their refusal to settle on the way to court and make things right, even when given ample opportunity, set them on a self-destructive path.  Harbored anger and antipathy become a prison.  Trapped within the walls of our rage, judgment, and alienation, we can idle away the years until we get over ourselves and make things right. Woe to us when we choose our wounded pride and angry outrage above reconciling with others—and reconciling with God.

Don’t get me—or Jesus—wrong.  Anger is part of how God has made us.  Anger has its time and place. Anger can motivate us to get out of a difficult or dangerous situation.  Anger can inspire us to change and grow.  Anger can prompt us to find a prophetic voice that speaks out against the sins of society, from gender oppression to racial hate to economic injustice.  Jesus got plenty mad. He denounced religious leaders who prized holiness over love and mercy. He decried the corruption of the Temple by turning over the moneychangers’ tables. But we also must acknowledge that anger can be an unholy and destructive force. Indeed, the frightened and vengeful anger of powerful opponents sent Jesus to the cross.

We all struggle with anger.  Some of us grew up in families where anger wasn’t expressed in healthy or constructive ways.  Anger meant that someone got hit or verbally abused or humiliated.  Anger meant the silent treatment and being made to feel like an outsider in our own home.  For others among us, we weren’t allowed to express anger.  It wasn’t ladylike or it might hurt someone’s feelings, or it wasn’t nice.  We don’t know what to do with anger—so it explodes in hurtful ways or gets swallowed in fear and shame.  Learning to manage our anger may put us face to face with old feelings of hurt, vulnerability, and powerlessness. We may find it easier to disconnect and walk away than to work things through. Unresolved anger can have painful consequences; our lives can be littered with broken relationships and hurting hearts.

But Jesus holds out hope that his disciples can do better.  We can make different choices with our anger.  We can find healing.  We find the wherewithal to manage our anger when we consider the reconciling work of Jesus.  If the cross teaches us anything, it is that God would sooner face death than be alienated and separated from us.  The resurrection overcomes the world’s violence and anger.  Think about it. On Easter evening, the risen Lord sought out the disciples who had betrayed, denied, and abandoned him. Jesus came to them not with anger or harsh recrimination, but with love.  His first word to them was “Peace.”  And he sent them forth not to punish or enact retributive violence on those who had condemned him to death and prosecuted his execution, but to forgive and to love. Our efforts to move past anger find inspiration and possibility when we remember the Lord’s example and we trust that he is with us, calling us always to the work of reconciliation.

We can begin to change our relationship with anger and heal the angry hurts that trouble us by simply paying attention.  Sometimes we walk around with an angry chip on our shoulder, taking our feelings out on the world around us.  Take time to notice what you are feeling and what has prompted those feelings to stir within you.  Keeping a daily journal can help you grow in your ability to notice and reflect, and so can having a close conversation partner with whom you can share, whether it is a friend or a spouse.  As we become more aware of what we are feeling and how it shapes our actions, we find the emotional space to make different choices instead of allowing our anger to drive the bus.

Despite our best intentions, there will be times when we find ourselves in the middle of an encounter that gets our blood boiling.  Our spouse will forget our birthday.  A teacher may hurt our child’s feelings.  Our best effort in the workplace will get scrubbed by the boss.  Take a deep breath and remember the simple wisdom of counting to ten.  That moment of reflective awareness grants us control over our breath and our body— and can help to deescalate the tension.  If we find we are still itching for a fight or inclined to say things we will surely regret, we can take a step back.  It can be as simple as saying, “I’m really angry right now.  Let’s take a beat and come back together when we can have a productive conversation.”  Then, follow through on that—sooner rather than later.  The Apostle Paul advised that we shouldn’t let the sun go down on our anger.  Work it through and move on.

What about those old angers and hurts that we all harbor, the broken relationships, the estranged siblings, the lost friends?  Is it too late to make a fresh start?  Jesus was the master of second chances.  He might remind us that we have nothing to lose, other than our anger, sadness, and grief.  Pray about it and see how the Lord may be leading you to make amends or build a bridge.  Pick up the phone and make contact.  Have a heart to heart over a cup of coffee. Send an email or reach out through social media. It can be as simple as saying, “I miss you. I regret the hard words and the hurt feelings. Let’s try again.” If we feel truly trapped and overwhelmed by our anger, we may need the support of a trusted counselor or pastor. We don’t have to face it alone.

I suspect that as we learn to manage our anger, we’ll feel better.  We’ll be a lot less likely to kill someone.  Our relationships will be healthier and find a new sense of strength and intimacy that forges a lasting bond.  We’ll be closer to others, even as we are closer to God. May it be so.

Resources

Amy Oden. “Commentary on Matthew 5:21-36” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 13, 2011. Accessed online at workingpreacher.org.

Karoline Lewis. “Commentary on Matthew 5:21-36” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 12, 2017. Accessed online at workingpreacher.org.

Carla Works. “Commentary on Matthew 5:21-36” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 16, 2014. Accessed online at workingpreacher.org.

Eric Barreto. “Commentary on Matthew 5:21-36” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 16, 2020. Accessed online at workingpreacher.org.

Melanie Howard. “Commentary on Matthew 5:21-36” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 12, 2023. Accessed online at workingpreacher.org.

Matthew 5:21-26

21 “You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder,’ and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’ 22 But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment, and if you insult a brother or sister, you will be liable to the council, and if you say, ‘You fool,’ you will be liable to the hell of fire. 23 So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, 24 leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift. 25 Come to terms quickly with your accuser while you are on the way to court with him, or your accuser may hand you over to the judge and the judge to the guard, and you will be thrown into prison. 26 Truly I tell you, you will never get out until you have paid the last penny.

Let Your Light Shine

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Let Your Light Shine” Matt. 5:13-16

Ever since Thomas Edison invented the lightbulb in 1879, our nights have gotten a lot brighter, so much so that if you live on the eastern seaboard or are near a big city, you may never catch a glimpse of the Milky Way or witness a meteor shower. On our last trip to Acadia, Duane and I attended a presentation on Dark Sky Parks.  These are places that have been specially certified for their exceptional starry nights and nocturnal environment.  Park lighting must be shielded and feature energy-efficient amber bulbs. Trails are unlit, so bring your headlamp. Even roadways and signs are minimally lighted, relying on reflective paint and your car’s headlights to show you the way.  Dark Sky areas have a light curfew – no outside lights from 10PM until an hour before dawn.  That goes for your home and your camper.

They may not be official, but we are blessed with some dark sky areas here in the Adirondacks, like the Adirondack Sky Center on Big Wolf Road in Tupper Lake, where you can explore the night sky on second and fourth Friday nights for much of the year.  When I moved to Saranac Lake from the Chicago area 18 years ago, I was shocked by the darkness of the night, so deep that I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face inside the tiny cottage that I shared with my sheltie on Lake Flower.  I bought nightlights, which helped until I became accustomed to the darkness.

Unless they live in a place like the Adirondacks or a Dark Sky Park, most folks hearing today’s reading from the Sermon on the Mount will have little appreciation for the point that Jesus was trying to make when he told his disciples that they are the light of the world.  In Jesus’s day, life was governed by the rising and the setting of the sun.  Every night was a dark sky night, an opportunity for exceptional stargazing.

Light was a precious commodity in the Ancient Near East, pushing back against the darkness and extending the day. Travelers caught on the road after dark would rejoice in the tiny pinpoints of light that marked their destination ahead.  Every household had an oil lamp, a simple clay pinch pot filled with olive oil and lit to impart a small, warm, golden glow to the simple one- or two-room home that was typical of the day.  So, Jesus was making a bold statement when he told his disciples, “You are the light of the world.” Just as God had created the heavenly lights of sun and moon, planets and stars, Jesus’s followers had likewise been made with a special purpose: to shine light amid the darkness of the world around them.

That darkness of Jesus’s world had nothing to do with Dark Sky Parks.  Darkness for Jesus’s listeners meant the Roman occupation of their land, with soldiers garrisoned from Dan to Beer Sheba, from the Great Sea to the western cities of the Decapolis. Darkness for the disciples included a religious milieu that prized holiness and purity above compassion and mercy. Lepers, demoniacs, and those living with disability were seen as sinners afflicted by God.  Tax collectors, scoundrels, and foreigners were labeled unclean and unfit for pious company. Vulnerable widows, orphans, and slaves rarely saw vindication in courts where justice tilted to the highest bidder.  In this world where the darkness of occupation, exclusion, and injustice abounded, Jesus told his friends that God had made them to be light.

In this post-modern world where artificial light is so abundant that we have to create sanctuaries to observe the night sky, we are not strangers to darkness.   Darkness for us looks like hate, whether it is the systemic racial hatred that puts people of color at terrible risk for brutality or it is the partisan spirit that pits neighbor against neighbor.  Darkness for us looks like generational poverty and income inequality in an area where multi-million-dollar camps are nestled among rusted out trailers and poorly heated sub-standard housing, and a quarter of our children qualify for free or reduced-price school lunches.  Darkness for us looks like addiction, from the family member who can’t make it through the day without a drink to the opioid epidemic that sweeps our nation.  For 2020, the most recent year in which data is available nationally, overdose deaths were the highest in history. New York State is part of this national trend.  We experienced a 37% increase in overdose deaths, the highest annual amount ever recorded, thanks to the increased presence of the prescription drug fentanyl in the illicit drug market.

Jesus’s followers knew what it felt like to be daunted by growing darkness.  As the Lord’s ministry continued, a growing number of powerful opponents would commit themselves to the cause of extinguishing the light of Christ that God was shining in the dark of the first century world. The disciples were tempted to hide their light: they slept in the Garden of Gethsemane while Jesus prayed; they ran when the Temple guards arrived to make an arrest; they hid in a dark, locked room until the risen Lord broke in with a message of peace.

Whether disciples live in the first century or the twenty-first century, darkness abounds, and it can feel overwhelming.  We feel powerless in the face of the violent deaths of George Floyd and Tyre Nichols.  We feel puzzled by the neighbor who rejects us when they learn that we don’t share their political beliefs.  We are saddened by the unending issues of North Country homelessness and hunger. We are frightened by the addiction that touches our families and community.  The darkness makes us want to give up and go home, to hide our light under a big bushel basket, plunging our world into shadows where we don’t want to look and we can’t really see. “You are the light of the world,” Jesus says, and we say, “Who me?”

One of my favorite memes that you can see floating around the internet, from Facebook to Instagram to Pinterest, is by the cartoonist Sandra Boynton, known for her humorous renderings of cats and cows. This meme shows a very worried looking grey cat, standing human-like on two legs against a dark backdrop.  In the cat’s paw is clutched a lit candle. The caption reads, “So much darkness. Offer whatever light you can.” It’s a reminder that, like that little oil lamp in a first-century home, even a single light can make a dent in the world’s darkness if we will only cast off the bushel basket and let it shine.

Letting our light shine before others gets easier when we do not do it alone.  Something gets lost in the translation of today’s reading from biblical Greek to English.  The “you” that Jesus uses—you are the light of the world—is second person plural.  It’s collective, speaking to all the disciples, not just one disciple.  You—all together—are the light of the world.  The darkness of this world is much less daunting when we work together, each shining our little bit to push back against the night.

Churches like this one are a remarkable witness to the power of light shared in the Lord’s purpose.  We may not feel effective when we act alone, but our collective gifts, abilities, and actions make a powerful difference.  Nine African villages will be blessed with lifesaving clean drinking water this year, thanks to our Christmas gift of shallow wells.  Those big pots will fill up on Super Bowl Sunday with dollar bills and cans of soup and our hungry neighbors will get hot meals.  A crew of caring deacons comes alongside the pastor and casts a caring net of cards and phone calls, hot dishes and funeral hospitality to ease loneliness and grief of hurting friends.  A growing crew of children comes to church, and a corps of steadfast adults joins forces to teach Sunday School, revealing the love of Christ for all God’s children. 

Our light shines in more ways than I could possibly name on a Sunday morning.  Those collective actions shine a vision of the world that Jesus would have his disciples make.  It’s a world where strangers are neighbors, everyone has enough, people feel valued and loved, and our little ones know that they belong to God.  We may not singlehandedly end hate, or resolve income inequality, or stem the opioid crisis, but when we work together, the world begins to feel like a brighter place.  I think Jesus, who exhorted his disciples to shine their light before others, would like that.  May it be so.

Resources

Eric Baretto. “Commentary on Matthew 5:13-20” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 9, 2020. Accessed online at workingpreaher.org.

Karoline Lewis. “Commentary on Matthew 5:13-20” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 5, 2017. Accessed online at workingpreaher.org.

Amy G. Oden. “Commentary on Matthew 5:13-20” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 9, 2014. Accessed online at workingpreaher.org.

New York State Department of Health. The New York State Department of Health Announces Quarterly Opioid Report and Increased Actions to Prevent Opioid Overdose Statewide (ny.gov) April 4, 2022, Albany.

International Dark Association. “Our Work.” Accessed online at https://www.darksky.org/our-work/

Matthew 5:13-16

13 “You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot. 14 “You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. 15 Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. 16 In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.

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